V 


' 


UCSB   LIBRARY 


PLYMOUTH  CHURCH, 


OTHER    POEMS. 


MOSES     OWEN. 


PORTLAND  : 

PUBLISHED    BY    W.    S.    JONES. 
1873. 


HARMON     &    JERRI  S, 

PRINTERS, 
POBTLAHD,     ME. 


TO    T  H  E 

Pott.  Cbos.  §. 

OF   AUGUSTA, 
Whose  voice  has  so  often  been  heard  in  behalf  of  otir 


And  who  is  known  as 
THE    FRIEND    OF   THE   LABORING   CLASSES, 

This  Book  is  respectfully  dedicated, 

•with  the  kindest  regards  of  his  Friend, 

THE  AUTHOR. 


PKEFACE, 

Having  been  solicited  by  many  of  my  friends 
to  collect  my  fugitive  pieces,  and  give  them  a 
local  habitation  and  a  name,  I  have  done  so, 
and  trust  an  indulgent  public  will  receive  this 
little  volume  with  the  same  favor  that  it  did 
my  previous  one. 


PLYMOUTH   CHURCH, 

AND 

OTHEK    POEMS. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

PLYMOUTH  CHURCH, 13 

THE  "  CITY  OF  BOSTON," 17 

PITY  MB,  OR,  THE  CHILD'S  LAMENT,      .         .         .20 
THE  ORPHAN'S  HOME  AT  BATH,          ...        23 

To  HENRY  TUCKER, 25 

POEM,      ........        27 

MOTHER,      .         .        .        .     .   .        .        .        .33 

HAUNTED, 35 

THE  RETURNED  MAINE  BATTLE  FLAGS,  .        .        .38 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGH 

THE  MAINE  GENERAL  HOSPITAL,        ...  41 

THE  SOLDIERS'  MONUMENT, 43 

AN  ACROSTIC, 46 

ON  GUARD, 48 

JEALOUSY, 52 

To  WHOM,   .                 54 

AT  LAST, 56 

To  THE  KENNEBEC, 58 

I  DREAM, 61 

ON  THE  DEATH  OP  Miss  DAVIDSON,        .         .         .68 

To  A  SNOW  FLAKE, 66 

ODE  OF  WELCOME, 68 

ONLY  A  CHILD, 71 

COME  TO  ME, 73 

A  ROMANCE  OF  NEW  MEADOW'S  RIVER,       .         .  75 

To  A  LAKE,          .......  85 

Miss  DELLA  POWERS, 88 

THE  IDEAL  WORLD, 90 

IN  MEMORIAM,          ...  96 


CONTENTS.  XI 

PAGE 

EPITAPH,     ......  .98 

Two  CHILDREN, 99 

THE  ARMY  AND  NAVY  UNION,       ....  101 

SPRING, .      103 

SUMMER. 105 

LOST,  .     .  107 

SAVED,        .  109 

To  ETTA, .111 

FAREWELL, 112 


PLYMOUTH  CHURCH. 


,OW   much's    the    bid    for    this 

broad-aisle  pew? 
Four  hundred  dollars!  —  'twill 

never  do ! 
Five  hundred  —  six  —  did  I  just 

hear  eight? 
The  road  to  heaven  from  thence  is  straight," 

Ah,  an  old  Saint  nods  !  he  has  gained  the  prize, 
And  he  pays  with  tears  wrung  from  widows' 

eyes; 


14  PLYMOUTH     CHURCH. 

Yet  the  Auctioneer,  with  a  smile  and  nod, 
Keeps  on :  "  How  much  do  I  hear  for  God  ! " 

The  broad-aisle  God  is  a  different  thing 
From  the  God  for  sale  in  an  obscure  winer : 

O  / 

Yet  I  often  wonder  if  He  is  more* 

At  Plymouth  front  than  at  Plymouth  door ! 

Is  He  there  at  all  with  the  pampered  throng  ? 
Does  He  like  the  music  and  well-paid  song  ? 
Do  the  rustling  silks  and  studied  prayer, 
Keep  Him  from  common  worship  there? 

And  I  often  muse  to  myself,  alone, 
If  seats  are  sold  'round  the  heavenly  throne  ! 
Ah,  yes,  my  friend  !  they  are  sold  above, 
But  the  price  is  paid  on  this  earth  in  love ! 

And  earth's  down-trodden  need  have  no  fear, 
For  Christ  has  risen  —  He  has  been  here ! 
From  the  cruel  cross,  with  spear  pierced  through, 
He  went  not  up  from  a  broad-aisle  pew ! 

To  the  dying  thief,  with  his  death-glazed  eyes, 


PLYMOUTH     CHUKCII.  15 

He  said  :  "  This  day  .....  in  Paradise  !  " 
And  the  heavens  grew  dark  as  earth  did  moan, 
And    thunders    muttered  -  -  "  the    Cross,    the 
Throne  !  " 


*        *        *-        *        *        #        -X-        * 


"  How  much,  how  much,  for  another  seat  ! 
It's  going,  gone  !  —  Ah,  Religion's  sweet  !  " 
Yet,  Auctioneer,  'tis  a  fearful  thought 
That  a  God  of  Justice  cannot  be  bought  ! 


THE 


CITY    OF    BOSTON." 


THE   "CITY  OF  BOSTON." 


The  following  verses  were  written  at  a  time  when  although  the  greatest 
anxiety  was  felt  for  the  safety  of  this  noble  vessel,  yet  hopes  were 
entertained  that  she  might  come  safely  into  port.  But,  alas !  days  have 
lengthened  into  weeks,  weeks  into  months,  months  into  years,  and 
Despair  gazes  sadly  out  on  the  wild  waste  of  waters  that  gives  no  answer. 
The  sea  keepeth  well  its  secret,  and  it  can  only  he  known  that  she 
sailed  from  port  and  came  not  back. 


[HERE  comes  no  voice  to-night 
from  that  drear  waste, 

Where  rolls  Atlantic  'neath  the 
dark'ning  sky, 

Whose     foam  -  crowned     billows 

with  impetuous  haste, 
Scorn  all  control,  nor  pause  to  give  reply. 

I  hear  the  cruel  gale,  fresh  from  the  deep, 
Now,   landward,   howl    its  prowess   to   the 
night ; 


18  THE   "CITY   OF   BOSTON." 

In  vain  Love  asks  it  where  her  treasures  sleep  - 
It  gives  no  token  —  speaks  but  of  its  might ! 

I  picture  to  myself  a  storm-tossed  bark, 

'Neath  icy  mountains  battling  with   despair ; 
The  final  crash  —  the  blank  —  then  all  grows 

dark, 

And   heaven   alone    records   the    shriek    or 
prayer. 

And  still  the  seas  chase  on  as  though  in  play, 
And  still  the  ice-bergs  thund'ring  rise  and 

fall, 
And  naught  save  man's  poor  work  has  passed 

away  — 

None  knoweth  why,  save  One  who  knoweth 
all. 

'Twere  vain  to  ask  the  tomb  how  sleep  its  dead, 
'Twere   vain    to    ask    the    wave   what   lies 

beneath ; 
Yet  tomb  and  wave   combined  need  have  no 

dread, 


THE     "CITY     OF     BOSTON."  19 

For  Hope    o'er   each  points  to   the  victor's 
wreath. 

The  sun  may  rise  and  set,  yet  tell  no  tale, 
The  seasons  come  and  go,  yet  whisper  not, 

And  quivering  lips,  alone,  all  deathly  pale, 
May  murmur  :    "  Gone  —  unheard  of  -  -  not 
forgot ! " 

God  grant  she   rides  the  waves  and  yet  may 

come 

Safe  from  the  ocean  with  her  precious  freight ; 
Stout  hearts  are  beating,  and  though  lips  be 

dumb, 
Yet  Love  proclaims  that  she  can  longer  wait. 

God  grant  the   best  !    our  hopes,  our  prayers, 
our  fears, 

Are  out  to-night  upon  the  ocean's  foam ; 
May  ne'er  Despair  proclaim  with  bitter  tears, 

She  sailed  triumphant  but  she  came  not  home. 


20      PITY   ME;    OR,   THE   CHILD'S   LAMEXT. 


PITY  ME; 

OR, 

THE  CHILD'S  LAMENT. 


JTY  nie,  pity  me,  earth  seems  so 

drear, 
'Dark  are  the  shadows  that  fall  o'er 

life's  path; 
Naught  that  is  beautiful  smiles  on 

me  here, 

Pity  a  child  that  has  known  only  wrath ! 
Out  in  the  graveyard  my  mother  lies  sleeping, 
Softly  the  summer  -rains  over  her  weeping ; 
Heart-broken  died  she  in  life's  early  morn, 
Earth  grew  so  dark  when  my  mother  was  gone. 


PITY  ME;    OK,    THE   CHILD'S    LAMENT.      21 

Heart-broken  died  she,  the  Summer  winds 

sighing, 

Tell  of  a  father,  a  loved  one  defiled ; 
Pity  him,  Heaven,  for  mother  when  dying, 
Blessed  him  and  wept  for   her   husband 

and  child. 

Bright  dreams  of  morning  you   smile   not  on 

me  — 

Only  a  drunkard's  child  !     That  is  my  name. 
Father  in  heaven  thy  child  turns  to  thee, 

Thou  knowest  the  heart,  thou  art  ever  the 

same. 

Poor  earthly  father  the  foul  fiends  possessing, 
Father  on  high,  Oh,  grant  him  thy  blessing! 
Mother  is  pleading,  a  poor  child  doth  moan, 
Bless   him,  O  Father,  and    smile   from   thy 
throne ! 

Often  at  evening  some  bright  shining  star 

Looks  down  upon  me  and  twinkles  its  love ; 
Mother's  in  heaven,  and  heaven's  not  far, 


22      PITY   ME;    OR,  THE   CHILD'S    r. AMI-: XT. 

And    earth's    down-trodden    shall    triumph 

above. 

Who  bears  the  cross  in  fell  anguish  and  sorrow, 
May  wear  the  crown  on  a  bright  sunny  morrow  : 
Mother  in  heaven,  Oh,  list  to  my  prayer ! 
Teach  me,  thy  child,  how  that  cross  I  shall 
bear. 


THE    OKPHAISTS'    HOME    AT    BATH. 


THE  ORPHANS'  HOME  AT  BATH. 


VKRSES  WRITTEN  FOR  THE  CHILDREN. 


ES,     the    prayers    our    fathers 
YJ     whispered  when  they  left  this 

mortal  shore, 

>That  their  darlings  be  protected, 
uttered  'midst  the  battle's  roar, 
Have  been  answered,  and  (jrod's 
angels  brought  good  tidings  from   above, 
And  the    "Home"   uprose  in   glory,  crowned 
with  brightness,  and  with  love. 

Blessed  angels  !  blessed  tidings  ! 

Weary  feet  no  more  must  roam ; 
Love  has  crowned  our  earthly  dwelling, 

Love  shall  crown  our  heavenly  home. 


24       THE  OKPHASd1  HOME  AT  BATH. 

Striving  e'er   to   reach   perfection,   let  us  one 

another  cheer, 
We  are  brothers,  sisters,  loved  ones  —  heaven's 

not  far,  'tis  almost  here  ! 
Let  our  prayers  by  night  and  morning  rise  from 

loving  hearts  above, 
Blessed    angels,     blessed    fathers,    who    have 

O  '  ' 

crowned  the  work  with  love  ! 

Blessed  angels  !  Blessed  tidings  ! 

Weary  feet  no  more  must  roam ; 
Love  has  crowned  our  earthly  dwelling, 

Love  shall  crown  our  heavenly  home. 


TO    HENRY    TUCKER.  25 


AUTHOR  OF  "STAR  OP  THE  EVENING,"   "  WHEN  THIS  CRUEL  WAR  IS  OVER,"  Ac. 

«dtoi 

[jjj'  H  thou,  whose  ballads  touch  the 

heart, 
Sweet    flowing    as    the    lark's 

clear   song, 

> Whose  every  tone   doth  joy  im- 
part, 
To  thee  our  love  and  praise  belong. 

When  "  cruel  war  "  swept  o'er  the  land, 
Thy  gentle  strains  e'en  then  could  cheer, 

Those  chords  struck  by  a  master-hand, 
Still  echo  in  the  sigh  and  tear. 


26  TO    HEXRY    TUCKER. 

'Twas  thine  to  move  with  magic  power, 
And  waken  thoughts  long  deemed  as  dead, 

And  all  entranced  in  fairy  bower, 
The  blissful  laden  moments  fled. 

The  maid  at  eve  has  turned  her  eyes 
Up  to  the  star-lit  skies  above  her, 

And  thy  sweet  song  has  checked  her  sighs, 
And  brought  her  near  an  absent  lover. 

The  soldier  on  th'  ensanguined  field, 
Amidst  the  wounded  and  the  slain, 

Beneath  the  moon  in  awe  has  kneeled, 
And  prayed  that  they  might  meet  again. 

•  Sweet  Singer,  let  the  wreath  be  placed, 

E'er  to  keep  green,  upon  thy  brow, 
And  of  the  many  it  has  graced, 

None  are  more  worthy  than  art  thou. 


MEMOEIAL    DAY. 


POEM 

• 

DELIVERED  AT   BATH  ON  THE  SECOND  ANNIVERSARY  OF 

DECORATING   THE    GRAVES    OF    THE    SOLDIERS    WITH    FLOWERS, 

JUNE  10,  1869. 


year     ago,    and     'neath     a 
cloudless  sky, 
Our  hearts  beat  fast  and  kindled 

every  eye; 
•  Beneath  yon  shaft  we  stood  and 

all    around 
Bespoke  the  solemn  scene  —  'twas  hallowed 

ground. 

Not  far  away,  where,  with  slow-measured  tread, 
The  long  ranks  passed  the  city  of  the  dead, 
There  loving   hearts  and   hands    bestrewed 

with  flowers 

Each  lowly  mound,  —  the  time,  the  day  was 
ours. 


28  MEMORIAL    DAY. 

The  mother  brought  her  wreath  ;  her  boy  went 

forth, 

She  knew  his  valor  and  his  modest  worth ; 
The  night  was  long,  replete  with  sigh  and 

groan, 
The  morning  came  at  last  —  his  name  is  on 

the  stone ! 

She  did  not  weep,  but,  silent,  drained  the  cup, 
He  was  his  country's,  and  she  gave  him  up  ; 
And  Freedom's  temple  with  such  names  shall 

glow, 

The   Soldier's    from    above  —  the    Mother's 
from  below. 

One  year  ago  !    Since  then  the  snows  have  shed 
Their  white-robed   mantle   o'er   our   hallowed 

dead; 
The  bleak  North  winds  have  mourned  their 

requiems  chill, 

And  sobbed  their  dirges  to  this  barren  hill ; 
But   yet  we   know  that   Nature   soon   would 

spring 
To  blooming  life,  that  summer  birds  would  sing 


MEMORIAL    DAY.  29 

That  fragrant  flowers  would  scent  the  evening 

breeze, 

And  music  whisper  from  the  rustling  trees. 
The  seasons  change    but  love  knows  not  a 

blight, 
Nor  winter's  frost   can  harm,   nor  day  nor 

night, 
It  grows  the  stronger  through  the  length'ning 

years  — 

Oh,  hallowed  Dead  !  'tis  love  we  give,  not  tears. 
You  need  .no   tears,  your  winter  has  been 

passed, 

Eternal  summer  meets  your  view  at  last. 
Your  furlough  came  and  never  more  to  roam, 
Your  Captain  took  you  to  his  own  loved  home. 

We  call  you  dead !     This  day  we  set  apart 
To  write  each  name  upon  a  Nation's  heart ; 
For  all  we  have  and  are  we  owe  to  thee  — - 
A  country  saved,  our  homes,  our  liberty  ! 
Up  to  the  skies  I  look !     Immortal  ranks 
Accept  a  Nation's  prayers,  a  Nation's  thanks ! 


30  MEMORIAL    DAY. 

.  Our  words  are  weak  and  silence  speaketh  best: 
Speak  on,  O  Stone,  the  glory  of  the  blessed  ! 

They  are  not  dead !     They  ever  hover  near 
To  check  the  sigh,  to  dry  the  falling  tear ; 
Tell  me  yeWinds  that  round  yon  shaft  do  play. 
Are  they  not  present  in  our  midst  to-day  ? 
Immortal  day  !  thy  every  moment  fraught 
With  memory's   tear    and   memory's   pleasing 

thought : 
'Tis  sweet  to  know  that  love  surmounts  the 

tomb 
And   lives    transplanted   from   this   earthly 

gloom ; 

It  knows  no  death,  for  death  with  it  is  life, 
It  carries  us  beyond  this  mortal  strife, 

'Tis  God's  best  gift  to  earth,  'tis  heaven's 

pure  ray, 

And  neath  its  brightness  do  we  stand  this  day. 
As  long  as  yonder  stream  shall  have  its  flow, 
Or  yon  bright  sun  shall  give  the  morning's  glow, 


MEMORIAL    DAY.  31 

As  long  as  days  and  nights  and  seasons  roll, 
This  earth  shall  cherish  each  immortal  soul. 

Flowers  for  the  dead! --This  sweet  memorial 

day 

Should  waft  its  fragrance  and  our  griefs  allay, 
Should    draw   us   nearer  to  the   loved  and 

blessed, 

And  be  a  day  of  peace,  a  day  of  rest. 
Sweet  Peace  has  come  and  smiling  o'er  the  land 
Has  scattered  blessings  with  no  sparing  hand, 
Dispelled  the  gloom   and  bade  war's  thun- 
ders cease  - 

Let  us  remember   those    who  brought   that 
peace ! 

The  Dead  and  Living !     Marching  side  by  side 
You  scarce  were  conscious  when  your  comrades 

died; 

The  roll  was  called  when  closed  the  hard- 
fought  day, 
But  lips  replied  not  that  had  closed  for  aye. 


32  MEMORIAL    DAY. 

They  gave  their  all  and  only  prayed  that  those, 
Their  children  dear,  be  sheltered  from  earth's 

woes; 
Our  Soldier's    Orphan's !  —  shall  they  not    be 

dear  ? 
A  SAMPSON  spoke  —  that  prayer  was  answered 

here  ! 

Around   that    Home    affection's    flowers    shall 

spring, 

And  cheerful  voices  shall  loud  anthems  sing; 
Ope  wide  the  doors  and  let  the  words  be  said : 
Love  for  the  living  and  our  martyred  dead ! 

The  day  we  cherish  !  let  it  ever  stand 
A  Day  of  Memory  to  a  ransomed  land  ! 


MOTHER. 


MOTHEK. 


MAY  25,   1869. 

pOT  in  her  dear  loved  home    our 

Mother  moves  to-day, 
God    sent    his     angels  down    to 

bear   his    saint    away ; 
She  uttered  no  'complaint,  She 

knew  her  God  was  kind, 
She    only  mourned  for  those,  her  children, 
left  behind. 

Our  eyes  were  dimmed  with  tears,  we  could 
not  see  that  throng, 

Nor  hear  one  note  that  rose  from  that  triumph- 
ant song ! 


MOTHER. 


Up  from  the  feeble  clay  an  immortal  soul  had 
t      risen, 

And  but  a  smile  remained  around  its  earthly 
prison. 

Oh,  saintly  form  that  sleeps  in  yonder  church- 

yard drear, 
Thy  child  yet  hears  thy  voice  which  tells  him 

thou  art  near; 
The  love  thou  gav'st  on  earth,  shines  brighter 

from  above  — 
Thy  children  weeping  here,  need  all  a  mother's 

love. 


HAUNTED. 


35 


HAUNTED. 


is   a   house    in    Bath,    a 
dread  abode, 
Haunted   by  goblins   through 

the  livelong  night ; 
Belated   travelers   shun  its  pass- 
ing road, 
And  only  mention  in  tlieir  tones  of  fright. 

Long  since  deserted,  unto  swift  decay 
It  passes  surely  and  must  soon  be  gone ; 

Yet  every  night  each  window  shows  a  ray. 
And  lights  keep  dancing  through  its  rooms 
till  morn. 

And  hideous  sounds  are  heard,  appalling  moans, 


36  IIAUXTED. 

As  demon  answers  demon  with  a  shriek, 
And    fearful    struggles   blend    with    frightful 

groans, 

Sounding  more  awful  than  the  tongue  can 
speak. 

The  hat  flies  o'er  it  on  his  way  at  night, 

Nor  stays  a  guest  within  its  darkened  room ; 

Darkness  hut  claims  it  and  the  shades  of  fright, 
And    spectral    forms  hut  haunt   its  solemn 
gloom. 

Some  tell  of  murder  done  long  since  therein, 
Blood-curdling  stories  of  a  wretch's  hate ; 

And  o'er  that  house  must  rest  the  blight  of  sin, 
Nor  Hope  dare  enter  through  its  cursed  gate. 

Be  it  as  it  may  be,  we  only  know 

There  is  a  house  in  Bath  where  goblins  dwell ; 
The  wearied  traveler  sees  its  windows  glow, 

And  knows  'tis  peopled  by  the  hosts  of  hell. 


HAUNTED.  37 

There  is  a  house  in  Bath  —  ah,  more  than  one, 
Not  yet  deserted,  where  bad  spirits  stay ; 

Where  love  should  dwell,  by  passion  'tis  undone, 
Where  hate  and  anger  hold  divided  sway ; 

Where  brother  answers  brother  in  the  strife, 
Where  curse  but  follows  curse  the  whole  day 
through, 

Where  bitter  feelings  are  forever  rife, 

Where  souls  are  haunted  by  a  goblin  crew. 


38 


BATTLE     FLAGS. 


THE 


RETURNED  MAINE  BATTLE  FLAGS. 


OTHING  but  flags  — but  simple 

flags, 
Tattered  and  torn  and  hanging  in 

rags; 
'And  we  walk  beneath  them  with 

careless  tread, 
Nor  think  of  the  hosts  of  the  mighty  dead, 
That  have  marched  beneath  them  in  days  gone 

t>y, 

With  a  burning  cheek  and  a  kindling  eye, 
And  have  bathed  their  folds  with  their  young 
life's  tide, 


BATTLE    FLAGS.  39 

And,  dying,  blessed  them,  and,  blessing,  died. 

Nothing  but  flags  —  yet,  methinks,  at  night 
They  tell  each  other  their  tales  of  fright ; 
And  dim  spectres  come  and  their  thin  arms 

twine 

'Round  each  standard  torn  as  they  stand  in  line  ! 
As  the  word  is  given  —  they  charge !  they  form ! 
And  the  dim  hall  rings  with  the  battle's  storm  ! 
And  once  again  through  the  smoke  and  strife, 
Those  colors  lead  to  a  Nation's  life. 

Nothing  but  flags  —  yet    they're  bathed  with 

tears, 

They  tell  of  triumphs,  of  hopes,  of  fears ; 
Of  a  mother's  prayers,  of  a  boy  away, 
Of  a  serpent  crushed,  of  the  coming  day ! 
Silent,  they  speak,  and  the  tear  will  start 
As  we  stand  beneath  them  with  throbbing  heart, 
And  think  of  those  who  are  ne'er  forgot, 
Their  flags  come  home  — why  come  they  not  ? 

Nothing  but  flags  —  yet  we  hold  our  breath, 


40  BATTLEFLAGS. 

And  gaze  with  awe  at  those  types  of  death  ! 
Nothing  but  flags,  yet  the  thought  will  come, 
The  heart  must  pray  though  the  lips  be  dumb  ! 
They  are  sacred,  pure,  and  we  see  no  stain 
On  those  dear  loved  flags  at  home  again  ; 
Baptized  in  blood,  our  purest,  best, 
Tattered  and  torn  they're  now  at  rest. 


HOSPITAL    FAIR. 


41 


THE 


MAINE    GENERAL   HOSPITAL   FAIR. 


STATE,  united,  hastes  with  loving- 
hands, 
To  wreathe  sweet  garlands  that  can 

never  fade ; 
Love  binds  each  flower  with  her  soft 

silken  bands, 
Her  voice  is  gentle,  yet  it  is  obeyed. 
Proud  as  an  emblem  of  protecting  care, 

The  walls  uprise  to  shield  each  suffering  one ; 
And  high  o'er  all  floats  sweetly  on  the  air, 

Oh,  Sunrise  State,  thy  crown  is  nobly  won ! 
Sweet  time  of  June  !  thy  length'ning  days  shall 
bring 


42  HOSPITAL    FAIR. 

Treasures  untold  to  crown  the  Summer's  day ; 
Each  blade  of  grass  and  fragrant  flower  shall 

sing, 
That  Love  keeps  watch    and  ward  for  aye 

and  aye. 

The  farthest  east  speaks  to  the  distant  west, 
And  north  and  south  clasp  hands  at  Mercy's 

call; 
The  feast  is  ready  —  no  reluctant  guest 

Comes  to  the  table  Love  has  spread  for  all. 
What  nobler  thought  than  in  the  human  heart 

Sweet  Pity  finds  a  place  nor  yet  has  flown ; 
Does  Sorrow  call  ?  —  the  tear  unchecked  will 

start, 

And  Love  proclaims  that  Maine  will  guard 
her  own. 


SOLDIERS'  MONUMENT. 


43 


THE 


SOLDIEKS'   MONUMENT. 


but    a   shaft   on    the    windy 

height, 
Which  will  crumble  to  dust  by 

the  ages'  blight, 
And  the  names  will  fade  from 

the  stone  away, 
In  the  long,  long  years — yet  they  count  to-day! 

'Tis  but  a  shaft  —  yet  we  bow  the  head, 
And  feel  we  are  nearer  our  noble  dead ; 
We  watched  them  going  with  tear-dimmed  eye, 
And  clasping  hand,  and  fond  "good-bye  !•" 
And  the  rolling  drums,  and  the  flags  unfurled, 
Told  not  of  the  shock  that  should  shake  the 
world, 


Of  those  fearful  years,  when,  in  battle's  strife, 
They  should  give  their  own  ior  a  Nation's  life. 

We  saw  not  the  spectres  that  followed  on, 
Yet,  somehow,  we  wept  when  we  found  them 

gone; 

And  many  a  heart  felt  itself  alone, 
Thousrh   it  read  no  name   on   the    unwrousrht 

o  o 

stone. 

'Tis  but  a  shaft  —  and  our  valiant  dead 
Perchance  sleep  far  from  its  rocky  bed ; 
Yet  I  love  to  think  that  they  hover  'round, 
At  home  once  more  near  this  hallowed  ground, 
And  all  unseen,  with  their  words  of  cheer, 
They  whisper  :  "  Mother,  your  boy  is  near !  " 
And  I  love  to  think  that  their  toils  are  o'er, 
They  f orm  no  ranks  —  hear  no  cannon's  roar  ! 
They  have  passed  beyond  —  all  their   work  is 

done. 
They  have  fought  the  fight  and  the  victory's 

won. 


SOLDIERS'  MONUMENT.  45 

Oh,  valiant  Dead  !  though  that  shaft  decay, 
And  crumble  and  sink  into  dust  away, 
Yet  nobler  than  cunning  works  of  art, 
Your  temple  stands  in  Freedom's  heart ! 
And  brighter  and  brighter  your  names   shall 

glow, 

For  they  shine  on  high  though  they  fade  below, 
And  eternal  years  may  not  blight  nor  chill, 
Though  that  shaft  must  sink  from  the  windy 

hill. 


46  AN    ACROSTIC. 


AN  ACROSTIC. 


[AY     heaven    protect    our   dear 

loved  State, 
And  may  she  stand  supremely 

great ! 

In  noble  deeds  let  her  delight, 
Nor  strive  but  in  the  cause  of 
Right ! 

Each  cry  for  succor  may  she  hear, 
Grant  that  she  bend  the  listening  ear  ! 
E'er  let  her  children  claim  her  care, 
Nor  Sorrow  speak  to  empty  air ! 
Enduring  though  the  Nations  fall, 
Raising  the  weak  and  blessing  all, 


AN    ACEOSTIC. 

As  first  she  greets  the  morning  sun, 
Let  love  keep  bright  till  time  be  run ! 
Honor  and  fame  shall  wreathe  her  brow, 
On  every  hill  glad  Heralds  now  . 
Sing  songs  of  praise  and  every  plain 
Prolongs  the  rapturous  song  o'er  Maine. 
In  sunlight  first  "  Dirigo  "  gleams, 
The  mountains  whisper  to  her  streams, 
And  over  all  in  might  and  sway, 
Love  tells  her  story  all  the  day. 


48 


ON    GUARD. 


ON   GUARD. 


[IS     night  --  and    the     Sentinel 

paces  his  round, 
With  an  eye  for  each  object,  an 

ear  for  each  sound  ; 
But  his  thoughts  are  roving  long, 

long  miles  away, 
They  speed  from  him  swiftly  like  children  to 
play. 

Again  he's  at  home  in  a  fond  wife's  embrace, 
And  tear  chases  tear  down  his  sun-beaten  face ; 
His  children  now  greet  him,  now  call  him  by 

name, 
He  heeds  not  the  night-watch — his  home  is  the 

same. 


ON    GUAKD.  49 

Still  green  is  the  vine  that  encircles  the  door, 
The  path  is  the  same  as  in  blest  days  of  yore ; 
Aye,  every  loved  object  stands  clear  to  his  view. 
God's  angels  have  blessed  him  —  inspired  him 
anew ! 

"  Oh,  bless'd  be  home  !  "  now  springs  from  his 

heart ; 
And  blest  be  the  ties  that  earth's  powers  cannot 

part, 
And  blessed  be  memory  that  spark  from  God's 

throne, 
That  star  for  earth's  mariner  wandering  alone. 

And  blessed  be  our  country  —  our  Flag  of  the 

Free, 
That  floats  now  in  triumph  o'er  land  and  o'er 

sea, 

And  proud  in  thy  glory  we  see  thee  arise, 
As  the  sun  scatters  clouds  in  his  course  through 

the  skies. 


50  ON    GUAED. 

The  Sentinel's  pacing  his  dull,  dreary  round, 
His    soul   is   now   free   though   the   body   be 

bound,  — 
But  hark!    through  the  darkness  some  sound 

strikes  his  ear, 
He  stops  as  some  object  doth  dimly  appear. 

"  Halt !  "  cries  he  ;  "  Who  comes  !  "  speaks  the 

Sentinel  now ; 
"  A  friend  with  the  countersign  !  "  's  answered 

him  low ; 
"  Advance  with  the  countersign  ! "     Soon  it  is 

given, 
His  home  is  now  earth  whilst  before   it  was 

heaven. 

That   bright  dream   is   over !    his   home's  far 

away, 
The  night  breeze  is  speaking  that  round  him 

doth  play, 

It  tells  of  a  country  that's  dearer  than  life, 
And  his  arm  feels  the  stronger  for  Freedom's 

own  strife. 


ON    GUARD.  51 

It  tells  of  a  foe  who  would  pluck  the  bright 

stars 

From  a  flag  so  triumphant  in  peace  or  in  wars ; 
Who  would  make  it  a  by-word  —  an  object  of 

shame, 
And  he  says :  "  I  will  die  for  its  freedom  and 

fame ! " 

And  blessed  is  a  country  with  stout  hearts  like 

these, 

The  tramp  of  her  armies  is  swelling  the  breeze, 
They  rush  to  her  rescue,  their  lives  freely  give, 
'Twere  better  to  die  than  in  bondage  to  live. 

God  bless  thee,  O  Sentinel,  pacing  thy  round, 
Safe  may'st  thou  return  with  the  Victor's 

wreath  bound, 
When  the  dark  clouds  of  war  shall  have  passed 

from  the  skies, 
And  rebellion  is  hurled  down  —  never  to  rise  ! 


52  JEALOUSY. 


JEALOUSY. 


H,  them  disturber  of  the  immor- 
tal mind, 

Where  shall  we  find  a  demon  of 
thy  kind  ? 

E'en  trifles  light  as  air,  'neath 

thy  control, 
Become  as  mountains  to  the  doubting  soul. 

Thou  sparest  nothing  in  thy  withering  blight, 
Thou  turnest  joy  to  pain  —  our  days  to  night ; 
Thou  rendest  ties  that  God  made  from  above, 
And  'neath  thy  influence  what  is  left  of  love  I 

Nor  reason  claims  thee,  it  is  all  unknown, 


JEALOUSY.  53 

But  passion,  lust  and  rapine  are  thine  own ; 
And  'neatli  thy  baleful  pall  comes  fell  despair, 
Nor  peace  can  rest  if  Jealousy  be  there. 

Grive  me  a  lowly  cot  —  a  happy  mind  — 
One  that  I  love,  and  far  from  human  kind, 
In  sweet  contentment  I  could  pass  my  days, 
And  songs  of  joy  in  grateful  homage  raise.     . 


54 


TO    WHOM. 


TO   WHOM? 


OMEWHEEE    I  knew,  at  some 

good  time, 

In  no  far  place  nor  distant  clime, 
I  should  meet  one  whom  dreams 

alone, 
Had  dared  to  let  me  call  my  own. 

The  sailor  on  the  stormy  sea, 
Ne'er  looked  for  light  more  wistfully, 
Than  I  for  one  who  should  be  true, 
I  found  it  nameless  one  in  you ! 

O  happy  Eve !    the  star  of  love 

Looked  down  and  smiled  from  heaven  above, 


TO    WHOM.  55 

My  wandering  steps  were  turned  aside, 
And  that  bright  star  I  then  espied. 

The  time  we  met  shall  ever  be 

A  sacred  day  of  Memory ; 

For  some  kind  angel  led  me  where 

I  looked  and  found  you  standing  there. 

And  thus  we  met  and  though  time  flies, 
Yet  love  still  kindles  in  your  eyes, 
And  that  bright  eve  can  ne'er  seem  far 
When  heaven  first  showed  a  guiding  star. 


56 


AT    LAST. 


AT   LAST. 


1 T    last  my  short-lived  Joys  have  sunk 

in  sorrow, 

• 

And    night     and    darkness    have 

usurped  their  reign ; 
'Twas  but  a  day  that  brought  such 

gloomy  morrow, 
For  one  has  gone  who  may  not  come  again. 

At  last  the  pitcher  carried  often  has  been 
broken, 

The  silver  chord  is  loosed  —  all  hope  is  fled, 
Yet  still  I  linger  though  the  word  be  spoken 

That  bids  me  wander  from  the  saintly  dead. 


AT    LAST.  57 

At  last !  I  knew  that  all  earth's  joys  were 
fleeting, 

Yet  still  I  fondly  hoped  'twas  not  my  fate, 
And  life  sped  on  with  glad  and  merry  greeting — 

A  day  so  golden  could  not  longer  wait. 

My  thoughts    go    back    to   that   glad    sunny 

morning, 
When  life  was  young  and  earth  and  sky  seemed 

bright, 
Oh    happy    day,  that    brought    such    glorious 

dawning 
How  could  you  leave  me  in  such  gloomy  night ! 

In  vain,  in  vain,  I  ask !    the  breeze  is  sighing, 
The  crimson  leaves  now  flutter  from  the  trees, 

And  Nature  speaks  e'en  in  her  very  dying : 
Go  seek  your  answer  —  it  is  found  in  these  ! 


58 


TO    THE    KENNEBEO. 


TO   THE    KENNEBEC. 


H,      sweet   flowing    River,   how 

oft  by  thy  side, 
In    childhood's   loved  days     I 

have  wandered  along, 
When  the  world  was  all  bright 
and  my  thoughts  like  thy  tide, 
Danced  out  to  an  ocean  of  music  and  song. 

Thou  still  art  the  same  —  but,  alas,  I  am  not ! 
Grown  older,  the  charm  and  the    freshness 
have  fled  ; 


TO    THE    KE^ISTEBEC.  59 

Some   friends  that   I    loved  have  grown  cold, 

have  forgot  - 

And  some  now  are  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the 
dead. 

Your  white-winged  ships  you  still  bear  to  the 

sea, 
I    once   thought    that    pleasure   must   follow 

them  on ; 
And  far  o'er  the  waters  my  thoughts  went  with 

thee, 

They  went  into  dream-land,  where  I  too  was 
gone. 

I  know  now   that   tempest   and    darkness   and 

gloom 

Encircle  them  'round  both  by  night  and  by  day; 
That    many    are  mould'ring   in    ocean's    drear 

tomb, 

And  tears  bring  not  back  what  your  tide  bore 
away. 

Yet,  sweet  flowing  River,  my  thoughts  once  again 


60  TO    THE    KENNEBEC. 

Shall  turn  as  in  childhood  all  fondly  to  thee ; 
Deal  kind  with  thy  treasures  —  I'll  love  thee  as 

when 
My  thoughts,  like  thy  waters,  danced  out  to 

the  sea. 


I    DREAM. 


61 


I   DKEAM. 


DREAM  that  all  around  is  joy, 
That  earth  is  pure  as  e'er  it 
bloomed ; 

I  dream  of  childhood,  when  a  boy, 
In  fancy  airy  castles  loomed. 

I    dream    of    Fame's   bewitching  smile, 
A  name  to  all  the  wide  world  dear; 

I  dream  of  things  as  free  from  guile 
As  is  a  loving  mother's  tear. 

I  wake  and  find  the  world  the  same, 
I  wake  —  the  pleasures  die  away ; 


10 


62  i  DUE  A  jr. 

E'en  he  who  wears  the  crown  of  fame 
Is  hastening  on  to  swift  decay. 

I  wake  and  care  soon  casts  its  pall, 
The  bustling  world  seems  full  of  woe, 

I  see  the  young  and  aged  fall, 

Friend  after  friend  doth  homeward  go. 

I  see  that  all  the  loved  on  earth 

Must  part  though  tears  fall  as  the  rain ; 

I  mark  grim  sorrow  joined  to  mirth, 

And  health  walk  hand  in  hand  with  pain. 

From  childhood  e'en  to  tottering  age, 
We  dream  —  we  wake  —  and  all  is  o'er  ! 

The  cares  of  life  our  minds  engage  — 
We  live  —  we  die  —  we  dream  no  more  ! 


MISS    MARGARET    DAVIDSON. 


63 


THOUGHTS    ON    THE    DEATH    OF 


MISS   MAKGAKET   DAVIDSON. 


"  And  Death  who  called  thee  hence  away, 
Placed  on  his  brow  a  gem  of  light." 

MARGARET  TO  HER  SISTER. 


OFT  sighs  the  breeze  as  it  steals 

o'er  the  meadow, 
Kissing  the  flowers  and  exhal- 
ing their  sweets, 
Laughing  it  sports  with  the  red 

rose  e'er  blushing, 
Then  the  tall  forest  tree  kindly  it  greets. 
Now  o'er  the  graves  of  the  dear  and  departed, 


64  MISS    MARGARET    DAVIDSON. 

Sighing  it  lingers  as  though  it  would  stay ; 
Oh,  it  is  sweet  that  though  mortal  must  perish, 
Flowers  spring  above  us  and   zephyrs  will 

play. 
Margaret !  —  thy    name    on    the    marble    I'm 

reading, 
Sweet  bird  of  song  thou   art    sleeping   full 

well; 

We  upon  earth  beheld  but  thy  dawning, 
Only  angels  above  of  thy  present  can  tell. 

Sadly  I  feel  when  I  think  that  the  fairest 

Flowers,  in  their  beauty,  must  soonest  decay ; 
Sombre's  the  thought  when  I  hear  that  sweet 
zephyr, 

Lisping,  e'er  lisping,  "  We're  passing  away !  " 
Passing  away  as  the  sun  in  the  evening 

Blushes  the  sky  as  he  sinks  to  his  rest  ; 
Passing  away  but  to  rise  in  his  splendor, 

Telling  of  life  as  he  dips  in  the  west. 

Soon  to  death's  'river  thy  pure  spirit  hastened, 


MISS    MAEGAEET    DAVIDSON.  65 

Long  on  the   banks    thou    entranced    did'st 

stand ; 
Saw  the  bright  glories  —  the  splendor  beyond 

thee  - 

Saw  thy  "  Lucretia  "  in  that  golden  land ; 
Saw  all  the  loved  who  had  passed  o'er  before 

thee, 

Heard  the  sweet  music  about  the  high  throne ; 
'Twas  but  a  step  and  the  torrent  was  forded, 
Now  with  those    rich   notes   thou   minglest 
thine  own. 


66 


TO    A    SNOW    FLAKE. 


TO   A   SNOW  FLAKE. 


INY      little     snow-flake    falling 

o 

from  above, 
Nestling  on  this  dreary  earth  - 

kissing  it  with  love, 
Welcome  little  stranger, 

With  thy  numerous  train, 
Thou  hast  been  a  ranger, 

O        / 

Welcome  baxsk  again ! 

Tiny  little  stranger,  tell  me  whence  yon  come; 
Tell  me  of  the  upper  air  —  tell  me  of  thy  home  ! 

Tell  me  earth  is  calling 
For  thy  mantle  white, 

Tell  me  thou  art  falling 

O 

And  her  plains  delight. 


TO    A    SNOW    FLAKE.  67 

Dropping,  dropping,  dropping  from  the  upper  air 
Tiny  little  stranger  virtue's  garb  you  wear ; 
As  God's  o-race  is  given, 

O  O  / 

As  liis  love  descends, 
Softly  falls  from  heaven 

With  his  children  blends. 
So  from  those  far  regions  lovingly  you  fall, 
Making  earth  look  brighter — blessing  nature  all. 
Welcome  little  stranger 

With  thy  numerous  train, 
Thou  hast  been  a  ranger, 
Welcome  back  again ! 


68 


ODE    OF    WELCOME. 


ODE    OF   WELCOME. 


READ  AT  THE  ORPHANS'  HOME,  BATH,  NEW  YEAR'S 


EVE,  JAN.  1,  1873. 


HAPPY  Night,  that  doth  appear 
To  crown  the  glory  of  the  year ! 
Where  Love  keeps  guard  what 

need  to  roam  ? 
And  5Love  keeps  guard  around 

this  home. 


Our  country's  Wards  !  that  dying  prayer, 
On  southern  fields,  by  angels  care, 
Was  wafted  to  the  Throne  above, 
And  angel  voices  sang  of  love. 


ODE     OF    WELCOME.  69 

'Tis  New  Year's  Eve  and  eyes  grow  bright, 
And  merry  faces  come  to  light ; 
Glad,  happy  hearts,  you  need  not  roam, 
No  cloud  shall  pass  across  your  Home. 

The  song  shall  rise,  the  evening  prayer 
Shall  give  them  to  their  Father's  care ; 
Affection's  flowers  shall  fresh  appear, 
And  cluster  'round  the  dawning  year. 

What  nobler  sight  to  thrill  the  heart, 
The  loved  and  loving  need  not  part ; 
Here  safe  at  home  no  one  need  grieve, 
For  Pleasure  guards  the  New  Year's  Eve. 

Each  star  that  shines  in  heaven  above, 
Shall  twinkle  down  a  Father's  love; 
Each  eye  that  glistens  here  to-night, 
Shall  twinkle  up  a  child's  delight. 

O  happy  Year,  that  brightly  dawns, 
Clear  be  thy  nights  and  fair  thy  morns  ! 
These  childrens'  voices  ring  out  clear, 
And  wish  you  all  a  Glad  New  Year ! 


70  ODE    OF    WELCOME. 

They  thank  you  for  your  tender  care, 
They  feel  that  you  their  pleasure  share ; 
The  rolling  year  must  pass  away, 
Yet  memory  still  can  hold  her  sway. 

This  Home  shall  throw  a  fragrance  round, 
And  where  we  stand  'tis  holy  ground ; 
The  seed  dropped  tearful  in  the  earth, 
Shall  blossom  in  triumphant  birth. 

They  are  our  own  !  a  country's  pride  ! 
Columbia  keeps  them  by  her  side ; 
Beneath  her  care  their  feet  may  roam, 
And  Love  still  guards  the  Orphan's  Home. 

Then  once  again,  with  voices  clear, 
They  wish  you  all  a  Glad  New  Year ! 
Their  hearts  are  full  and  words  are  weak, 
If  thoughts  were  words  how  they  would  speak. 


ONLY    A    CHILD.  71 


ONLY   A'  CHILD. 


NLY  a  child  that  was  killed  in 

the  street, 
Wandering  there  with  her  poor 

weary  feet ; 
"  'No  one's  to  blame ! "  and  the 

driver  looked  wild, 
Saying,  "  It's  lucky  'twas  only  a  child  ! " 

Only  a  child  —  yet  the  crowd  presses  on, 
Take  her  away  for  the  spirit  has  gone  ! 
Gone  from  its  anguish,  its  prison,  its  woe, 
Up  to  its  Maker  who  sent  it  below. 

Pity  her  not,  she  had  no  loving  home, 
Father  a  drunkard  —  her  fate  was  to  roam  ; 


72  ONLY    A    CHILI). 

Weary  and  hungry  to  beg  for  her  bread, 
Pity  her  not,  for  at  last  she  is  dead ! 

Hollow-eyed,  ragged,  deformed  from  her  birth, 
AH  have  refused  her  a  'home  but  the  earth  ; 
Poor  little  feet  that  have  wandered  too  long, 
Pure,  sinless  heart  that  has  ne'er  known  the 
wrong. 

Only  a  child  —  and  there  falleth  no  tear, 
No  one  remains  that  will  think  of  her  here ; 
But    'mongst   the   blessed    the    Father   sweet 

smiled, 
And    angel-harps    welcomed    a    glad,  radiant 

child. 


COME   TO    ME. 


COME   TO   ME. 


OME    to  me  when  in  sorrow  I  am 

calling 
When  darkness  veils  the  sun  and 

shows  no  day ; 
When   all  I  loved  and  prized  are 

'round  me  falling, 
Come  to  me,  darling  —  do  not  longer  stay ! 

Come  tell  me  stories  that  the  past,  so  golden, 
Loved  to  repeat  unto  my  listening  ear ; 

Come  tell  me  legends  of  the  ages  olden, 
I  only  wait  to  feel  that  thou  art  near. 


74  *  COME  TO  ME. 

Come  to  me  song-bird  on  the  joyous  morrow, 
Thy  notes  shall  soothe  my  heart  and  banish 

pain. 
And  from  the   sky   shall  pass   the   clouds   of 

sorrow, 
If  I  but  know  that  thou  can'st  come  again. 

Alas,  alas,  in  vain  my  soul  keeps  crying, 

They  may  not  come  who  cross  death's  rolling 
tide! 

And  only  dirges  to  my  voice  replying, 

Chant  thou  art  ever  banished  from  my  side. 


NEW    MEADOW  S    RIArER. 


75 


A    ROMANCE    OF 

NEW  MEADOWS   RIVER. 

FOUNDED     ON     FACT. 


I 

EW  MEADOWS  flows  the  same 

to-day, 

With  dancing  waters  to  the  sea, 
And  tells  her  story  all  the  way, 

Replete  with  love  and  melody. 
The  wild  woods  bend  on  either  side, 

To  cast  their  shadows  in  the  stream, 
And  sunbeams  sparkle  on  her  tide, 

Like  bright' thoughts  in  a  Poet's  dream. 


76  NEW    MEADOW  S    RIVER. 

Fair  River !  few  have  sung  thy  praise, 
Unknown,  thou  murmurest  to  the  sea, 

But  from  the  far-off,  golden  days, 
I  hear  these  echoes  come  from  thee. 

Time  was  when  on  thy  western  shore 

The  busy  hum  of  trade  did  rise ; 
When  Commerce  in  her  hands  upbore 

The  products  of  far-distant  skies. 
The  keel  was  stretched,  the  white-winged  ship 

Launched  on  thy  tide  —  then  sped  away, 
And  fleeing  south  her  prow  did  dip 

Where  Pleasure  ruled  the  golden  day. 

Good,  honest  Burghers  !  time  has  fled, 

The  crumbling  mounds  alone  remain  : 
And  those  that  lived  and  loved  are  dead, 

The  mossy  stones  reveal  no  name. 
In  quiet  church-yards  they  sleep  well, 

Who  planned  and  toiled  in  years  gone  by, 
And  thy  sweet  stream  alone  doth  tell 

The  tale  of  those  who  lived  to*  die. 


NEW  MEADOW'S  EIVER.  7V 

Haply  some  aged  sire  remains. 

Whose  memory  wanders  almost  back, 
And  reason  for  a  moment  reigns, 

To  light  the  wanderer  on  his  track. 

Near  "  Howard's  Point,"  the  old  bridge  spanned, 

It,  only,  crossed  New-Meadow's  tide  ; 
And  reached  from  smilling  land  to  land, 

And  long  the  elements  defied. 
A  prosperous  village  nestled  there, 

Ere  Bath  was  known  by  even  name, 
The  spire  uprose,  the  pastor's  prayer 

Breathed  soft  to  heaven  —  'tis  e'er  the  same. 

There  "  Nimmy  "  told  the  artless  maid 

Her  future  fortune  from  the  cup, 
Who  heard  half -laughing,  half -afraid, 

Then  took  the  charmed  goblet  up  ; 
Or,  at  the  dance,  the  rustic  feet 

Tripped  lightly  to  her  wondrous  song, 
And  all  the  village  loved  to  greet 

And  hear  her  charm  the  artless  throng. 
12 


78  NEW  MEADOW'S  RIVER. 

Poor  "  Nimmy  !  "   youth   since  then  has  gone, 
And  made  their  bed  alike  with  thee ; 

The  world's  contempt  and  cruel  scorn 
Have  died  away  —  for  thou  art  free. 

One  summer  day,  by  "  Ragged  Isle," 

That  frowns  far  out  upon  the  sea, 
When  Nature  wore  her  sunniest  smile, 

And  earth  was  full  of  melody, 
A  white-winged  vessel  sped  along, 

Cape  Small  Point  on  the  larboard  bow, 
And  on  her  deck  a  motley  throng, 

Where  crime  had  branded  every  brow. 
Bold  rovers  of  the  Spanish  main, 

They  turned  from  plunder  on  the  deep ; 
Each  hand  imbued  with  Cain's  red  stain, 

Their  victims  'neath  the  ocean  sleep. 

Onward  they  speed !     New-Meadow's  tide 
Now  ripples  round  their  vessel's  prow ; 

Who  walks  alone,  in  sullen  pride, 
A  dark  frown  resting  on  his  brow  ! 


NEW  MEADOW'S  EIVER.  79 

The  captain  of  that  restless  band, 

Envenomed  'gainst  the  race  of  man  ; 
He  gazes  on  the  passing  land, 

Then  northward  doth  his  vision  scan. 
"  This  is  the  place.     I  know  it  well," 

He  mutters,  "  Ah,  they  chase  in  vain  ! 
Nor  winds  nor  waves  can  ever  tell, 

Where  floats  the  Rover  of  the  Main  ! 
Here  in  these  northern  wilds  secure, 

The  gold  obtained  by  blood  shall  rest ; 
My  bark  is  fleet,  my  comrades  sure, 

'Tis  danger  gives  to  life  a  zest ! 
Aye,  fools  are  they  who  toil  to  win 

A  meagre  pittance  at  the  end, 
Better  to  reap  the  spoils  of  sin, 

Who  sins  the  most  may  most  amend !  " 

The  bark  speeds  on  !  the  sun  dips  down 
Blood-red  as  blushing  at  the  sight ; 

The  shadows  fall  —  with  sombre  frown 
Advance  the  spectral  forms  of  night. 


80  NEW  MEADOW'S  RIVER. 

Now  "  Howard's  Point "  comes  into  view, 

'Tis  rounded  on  the  western  side ; 
And  all  elate  the  pirate  crew 

Stand  ready  for  what  may  betide. 
The  water  shoals,  but  just  ahead 

An  island  lifts  its  ghostly  form, 
Seeming  as  dropped  in  marshy  bed, 

It  rears  its  front  'gainst  wind  and  storm. 
To  north  and  west  the  wood's  dark  shade 

Resounds  with  tones  of  insect  life, 
The  struggling  moon  seems  half  afraid 

To  look  down  on  these  men  of  strife. 
O  night  that  warps  the  world  in  sleep, 

And  soothes  earth's  countless  cares  away, 
How  many  secrets  must  you  keep, 

If  thou  could'st    speak  what  would'st   thou 

say! 
The  mother's  prayer  thou  bearest  above, 

Beseeching  for  a  wandering  son, 
And  craving  from  the  Throne  of  Love 

A  blessing  for  the  erring  one. 


NEW  MEADOW'S  EIVEE.  81 

Sweet  time  of  night !  how  memory  turns, 
And  thoughts  fly  back  and  tumults  cease ; 

The  fire  upon  the  altar  burns, 

And  night,  in  silence,  whispers  peace. 

The  sails  are  furled,  the  bark  rounds  to, 

The  boat  is  lowered  —  they  gain  the  strand, 
Nor  haunted  by  that  murdered  crew, 

They  bring  their  treasures  to  the  land, 
Near  where  a  grave-yard  keeps  its  dead, 

Beneath  a  hill  they  dig  the  earth ; 
The  stars  alone  look  down  o'erhead, 

Unmindful  of  the  golden  worth. 

"  There  now,  my  boys,"  the  Chief  exclaims, 

"  Our  prize  is  safe,  our  land-marks  sure, 
In  times  to  come  when  each  one  names 

His  part,  who  then  can  count  him  poor  ? 
Let's  now  away,  for  plunder  calls, 

The  merchantman  sails  on  the  sea, 
Rich  wealth  within  her  oaken  walls, 

It  only  sails  for  you  and  me." 


82  NEW  MEADOW'S  RIVER. 

They  gained  their  craft  —  all  sail  was  made. 
To  scenes  of  rapine  sped  they  on, 

And  when  the  morning  lit  the  glade, 
All  traces  of  that  crew  had  gone. 
*     *     *     #     #     *     #-     -*     *    *     *     %     * 

The  years  sped  by,  time  loiters  not, 

Nor  e'er  turns  back  to  view  the  past, 
What  was,  perchance,  is  now  forgot, 

What  is,  cannot  forever  last. 
Full  fifty  years  with  magic  sway, 

Had  passed  since  sailed  that  pirate  band, 
And  men  had  lived  and  passed  away, 

And  change  was  written  o'er  the  land. 
The  old-worn  bridge  had  passed  from  sight, 

The  village  now  was  hushed  and  still, 
The  day  kept  silence  with  the  night, 

And  "  Nimniy  "  slept  beneath  the  hill ; 
The  river  flowed  unto  the  sea, 

As  if  no  change  had  marked  its  path, 
And  telling  of  the  yet  to  be, 

Pealed  out  the  bells  of  distant  Bath. 


MEADOW'S  KIVER.  83 


The  engine  yoked  it  to  the  car, 

And  shrieked  across  New-Meadow's  tide, 
And  cities  sprung  up  near  and  far, 

Nor  missed  that  from  New-Meadow's  side. 

The  sun  was  low  —  a  wearied  man 

Bowed  down  with  years  kept  on  his  way, 
And  every  object  seemed  to  scan, 

And  muttered,  though  he  naught  did  say. 
Where    "  Bull    Bridge  "   spans  New-Meadow's 
tide, 

He  took  his  course  —  the  day  was  cold,  — 
And  one  that  passed  near  to  his  side 

Said  that  he  muttered  :    "  Gold,  my  gold  !  " 
When    o'er  the    bridge    he  turned  him  south, 

And  craved  a  farmer's  home  to  share, 
"  I'll    pay    you  well  !  "    came  from  his  mouth. 

"  I've  gold  and  silver  coins  to  spare." 
He  showed  a  chart  —  begrimmed  with  time  - 

From  u  Howard's  Point  "  to  upper  land, 
At  night  he  dug  with  murmuring  rhyme: 

"The  last  one  of  the  Pirate's  band?" 


84  NEW  MEADOW'S  RIVER. 

He  came,  lie  went  —  he  paid  in  gold ; 

Old  Spanish  coin  the  farmer  took ; 
His  story  ne'er  by  him  was  told,  - 

The  rustic  trembled  at  his  look. 
Doubtless  he  only  of  that  crew 

Had  lived  to  reach  his  hidden  wealth, 
But  gold  stays  not  the  year's  adieu, 

Nor  can  give  back  departed  health. 
And  even  now  the  traveler  stays, 

And  marks  where  dug  that  ancient  man, 
The  farmer  to  his  closing  days 

Will  keep  the  pirate's  time-worn  plan. 


TO    A    LAKE. 


TO   A   LAKE. 


OUNTAINS    around   thee  rise, 
Above,  below,  the  skies  ! 
The  wild  fawn,  timid,  from  the 

leafy  brake, 

Starts  at   his   imaged  form,  in 
thee,  fair  Lake ! 


The  woods  embrace  thee  'round, 

Each  height  with  foliage  crowned; 

But  few  have  e'er  beheld  thy  virgin  face, 

Thou  jewel  set  with  Nature's  loveliest  grace. 

The  wild  bird  flies  o'erhead, 
Or,  on  thee,  has  no  dread ; 


13 


86  TO    A    LAKE. 

The  little  brook,  that  wooed  thee  through  the 

day, 
Melts  with  thy  waters,  into  song,  away. 

Thou  glassy  Mirror,  fair ! 

My  thoughts  are  wandering  where, 

This  summer  day,  thou  laughest  in  thy  pride, 

And  I,  alas,  am  far  from  thy  loved  side  ! 

For  to  earth's  wearied  mind, 

A  pleasure  undefined 

Thou  bring'st  to  him  who  far  from  dusty  street, 

Communes  with  Nature  in  her  own  retreat. 

Undine-like  I  see 

Fair  f onns  arise  from  thee ; 

And  from  thee  come  sweet  words  to  cheer  my 

heart  — 
I  know  thou  chidest  that  I  keep  apart ! 

I  shall  be  near  thee  soon ; 
The  balmy  breath  of  June 


TO    A    LAKE.  87 

Shall  greet  me  wandering  'neath  thy  wild- 
wood's  shade, 

Where  oft  o'er  flowery  banks  my  feet  have 
strayed. 


88 


MISS    DELLA    POWERS. 


MISS    DELLA    POWERS, 


DIED    AT    ORLAND,    MAINE,    OCTOBER,    1873. 


Her  last  words  were :  "  A  little  while  iny  Father  dear  and  I  will  meet  you 
on  the  other  shore." 


LITTLE    while  my  Father  dear, 
And  earthly  anguish  will  be  o'er. 
Your  darling  Delia  only  goes 
To  meet  you  on  the  other  shore. 
Bright  angels  touch  their  harps  so 
sweet, 

I  now  can  hear  their  glad  refrain, 

Farewell,  O  loved  ones,  I  depart 

Yet  I  shall  meet  you  all  again. 


MISS    BELLA    POWERS. 

The  heavenly  chorus  swelled  the  song, 
And  earthly  notes  were  borne  above, 
As  Delia  joined  the  happy  throng, 
And  touched  her  harp  to  sing  of  love. 

"  A  little  while  my  Father  dear  "  - 

How  sweet  those  words  to  cheer  the  heart, 

The  loved  on  earth  in  heaven  will  meet, 

Thank  God  there  is  no  power  to  part ! 

The  sun  goes  down  at  close  of  day, 

To  rise  upon  a  brighter  morn ; 

So  your  fair  sun  but  dipped  the  west, 

To  shine  the  brighter  when  'twas  gone. 

And  though  time  pass  with  hast'ning  feet, 
That  father  e'er  her  voice  can  hear, 
From  o'er  the  tide  with  incense  sweet, 
That  tells  him  that  his  child  is  near ; 
There  is  no  grave  in  northern  clime, 
Nor  ocean's  depths  although  they  roar, 
Can  keep  the  loved  and  lost  on  earth, 
From  meeting  on  the  other  shore. 


90 


THE     IDEAL    WORLD. 


THE   IDEAL  WORLD. 


HERE     is    a    land   where    the 

sunbeams  are   glist'ning, 
It  is  a  land  which  all  mortals 

may  know ; 
Often  we  rove  there  and  stand 

vaguely  list'ning, 
Reveling  'mid  objects  that  dwell  not  below. 

Bright  are  its  plains  with  sweet  flowers  ever 
blooming, 

Time  has  110  sway  in  that  region  sublime, 
Castle  and  turret  within  it  are  looming, 

What  shall  I  say  is  the  name  of  this  clime  ? 


.THE     IDEAL    WORLD.  91 

It  is  the  dream-land,  of  fancies  the  dwelling, 
It  is  the  threshold  of  that  great  to  be, 

From  whence  the  music  of  angel-harps  swelling, 
Fills  all  our  souls  with  its  sweet  melody. 

Drear  is  this  earth  and  its  shadows  are  falling 
Over  the  pathway,  perforce,  we  must  tread ; 

Time  never  loiters  —  each  second  is  calling 
Some  one  from  life  to  the  home  of  the  dead ; 

But  in  our  visions  the  loved,  the  departed, 
Come  once  again  as  in  blest  days  of  yore, 

Drying  the  tears  of  earth's  poor,  broken-hearted, 
Telling  of  glories,  of  life  evermore. 

Is  it  ideal  that  the  spirit,  up-springing, 
Leaves  its  dull  body  to  slumber  below  ? 

Death  is  but  life  !  all  the  ages  are  ringing ; 
Over  the  river  we  see  the  bright  glow. 

Hast  thou  not  heard  —  'tis  a   strange,  ancient 

story, 
Of  a  fair  island  where  death  never  came  ? 


92  THE     IDEAL    WORLD. 

E'en  the  poor  Indian  has  dreamed  of  its  glory, 
And,  dying,  has  whispered  its  sweet-breathing 
name ! 

Isle  of  the  blessed !  unseen  o'er  the  ocean, 
Fancy  has  pictured  thy  regions  sublime ; 

Life-giving  streams  in  their  musical  motion, 
Wash   out  the  foot-prints  of    death-dealing 
time. 

Land  of  Immortals  !  your  blue  skies  are  smiling 
Somewhere,  I  know,  though  they're  seen  but 

in  dreams; 
Not  as  a  mirage,  deceptive,  beguiling, 

Nor  wholly   departing  at   morning's   bright 
beams. 

Life  is  but  thought !  and  should  we  call  seeing 
With  the  dull  eye,  though  the  organ  of  sight, 

All  of  our  vision  —  the  soul  has  a  being 

Wandering  at  will  through  the  regions  of 
light. 


THE     IDEAL    WORLD.  93 

Knowing  no  shackles,  ne'er  drooping,  nor  dying, 
Where  the  poor  body  must  stop  it  can  roam ; 

In  the  Ideal  —  and,  methinks,  it  turns  sighing, 
Joining  with  sorrow  its  poor,  earthly  home. 

Nature  is  speaking  —  each  bud  in  expanding, 
Cover  the  seed  —  -  'tis  the  germ  of  the  tree  ; 

What  is  the  lesson  to  our  understanding  ? 
This  is  its  teaching  —  Immortality  ! 

Nothing   is   lost  —  though   in   gloom    and   in 

sorrow 

Death  takes  a  loved  one  and  bears  him  away, 
The  sun  that  goes  down,  sinks  to  rise  on  the 

morrow, 

And  light   springs   from   darkness  and   life 
from  decay. 

Is  it  ideal,  when  the  soul,  ever  longing, 
Peoples  a  world  with  its  visions  of  light  ? 

Calling  up  objects  that  ever  are  thronging, 
Visions  that  come  from  the  shadows  of  night? 

14 


94  THE    IDEAL    WORLD. 

Hast  thou  not  gazed  on  the  vast,  surging  ocean, 
Dashing  its  waves  on  the  wild,  craggy  shore, 

Telling  and  chanting,  with  deep-toned  emotion, 
Tales  of  such  grandeur  ne'er  thought  of 
before ; 

Or   in   deep  woods  when  the   moonbeams   are 

falling, 
When  the   dark  shadows  cause  spectres  to 

rise, 

Hast  thou  not  heard,  as  it  were,  a  voice  calling, 
As  though  the  angels  spoke  soft  from    the 
skies  ? 

Then  to  their  maker,  unconscious,  we  wander> 
Awe-stricken  think  —  "  And  does  he  care  for 
me?" 

Is  he  not  speaking,  we  ask,  and  we  ponder, 
Dreaming  sweet  dreams  of  the  life  yet  to  be  ! 

Call  these  but  fancies — they  yet  have  a  meaning, 
Deeper   than   mortals,   perchance,   here    can 
know; 


THE    IDEAL    WORLD.  95 

He  who  in  sorrow  and  gloom  is  now  gleaning, 
May    gather    rejoicing  -  -  the    harvest    shall 
glow. 


96  IN    MEMORIAL. 


IN     MEMORIAM. 

J.   L.   BOOTHBY, 

DIED    AT    BAITOOR,    APRIL    14,    1873. 


E  giveth  his  beloved  rest ; 
What  blessed  words  to  cheer  the 

heart ! 
fs   The   hands  now  folded  on  the 

breast, 

No  more  must  work  life's  bitter 
part. 

He  giveth  his  beloved  rest ; 
A  tired  child  has  gone  to  sleep, 


IN    MEMOEIAM.  97 

A  wave  has  died  on  ocean's  breast, 
And  sunk  in  silence  on  the  deep. 

The  husband  kind,  the  friend  sincere, 

Has  passed  to  the  eterna]  shore ; 
Yet  Love  still  guards  his  memory  here, 

Although  its  treasure  comes  no  more. 

He  giveth  his  beloved  rest : 

What  heavenly  peace  can  He  bestow ! 
Asleep  upon  the  Savior's  breast, 
Oh,  who  would  dwell  fore'er  below ! 


98 


EPITAPH. 


EPITAPH. 


that  she  loved  earth  less,  but 

heaven  more, 
And  at  a  ripe    old   age,    her 

work  well  done, 
Her   Master   called    and    in    his 

arms  upbore 
A  saintly  Angel  who  the  crown  had  won. 


TWO    CHILDEElsr. 


99 


TWO   CHILDREN. 


|WO    children  stood  one  Summer 

day 
Beneath  the  elm   trees  gently 

swaying, 
Whilst  danced  the  happy  hours 

away, 

And  life  seemed  only  made  for  playing. 
Their  rippling  laughter  reached  my  ear, 

And,  somehow,  brought  to  me  a  sorrow, 
For  though  the  day  was  bright  and  clear, 
I  thought  upon  a  sad  to-morrow. 

Oh,  happy  children,  laugh  and  play, 
What  reck  you  of  a  sad  to-morrow, 


100  TWO    CHILDREN. 

For  though  these  hours  must  pass  away, 
There  comes  to  you  no  thought  of  sorrow. 

Keep  pure  your  hearts,  and  though  time  fade, 
And  earthly  ties  and  joys  may  sever, 

There  is  a  land  that  knows  no  shade, 
God's  children  dwell  therein  forever. 


THE  AEMY  AND  NAVY  UNION. 


101 


THE  ARMY  AND  NAVY  UNION. 


AIR  Peace  embraced  a  smiling 

land, 
And    home    our    conquering 

heroes  came, 
Then   Mercy    gave    her    sweet 

command, 

And  blessings  clustered  'round  her  name, 
The  Union  answered  to  the  call, 

Whilst  Love  turned  back  no  more  to  stray, 
And  heaven  looked  down  and  smiled  on  all,  — 

The  night  was  long  —  how  fair  the  day  ! 


15 


102  THE    ARMY    AND    NAVY    UNION. 

Blessed  Union  !  how  thy  name  doth  thrill, 

What  memories  come  at  thought  of  thee  ! 
Thy  stream  flows  soft,  for  every  rill 

Springs  from  the  fount  of  charity. 
The  hanks  are  green  on  either  side, 

Thy  children  seek  the  welcome  shade, 
And  love  and  peace  fore'er  abide, 

For  Mercy  spoke  and  was  obeyed. 


SPRING. 


103 


SPRING. 


O  our  loved  clime  again  a  Maiden 

hies, 
At  first  too  coy,  with  down-cast, 

modest  eyes; 
The  violets  greet   her   and  the 

song-birds  sing 
And  trill  the  praises  of  their  mistress,  Spring ! 

Stern-winter's  hand  is  loosed,  the  brook  runs 

free, 

The  blade  grows  green,  the  bud  adorns  the  tree, 
Where'er  her  light  step  falls  its  trace  remains, 
And  beauty  nestles  o'er  our  hills  and  plains. 


104  SPRING. 

Sweet  time  of  Spring !  what  memories  flood  the 

heart  • 

What  dreams  of  rapture  doth  thy  name  impart ! 
She  grows  in  beauty  through  the  lengthening 

hours, 
And  girlish  Summer  walks  amongst  her  flowers. 


SUMMER. 


105 


SUMMER 


OW  rosy  Summer  from  her  throne 

of  flowers 
Scatters  sweet  perfume  through 

the  livelong  day ; 
Babbling  sweet  words  to  charm 

the  happy  hours, 
She  trips  in  pleasure  and  in  song  away. 

The  fields  are  green,  or   show  their  changing 

hues, 
The     swallow's   shadow   swiftly    skims    the 

ground, 
Dame  Nature's  mirror   gleams  with    countless 

views, 
And  peace  and  plenty  seem  to  smile  around. 


106  SUMMER. 

The  brook  pays  tribute  to  the  noon-day  sun, 
And  laughing  children  cross  its  shallow  bed ; 

The  woods  resound  with  ring  of  huntsman's  gun, 
The  clouds  seem  sporting  as  they  float  o'er- 
head. 

The  night  breathes  still  —  if  we  can  call  that 

night, 
Which   comes  all  radiant  with   its    jeweled 

crown ; 

The  moon  rolls  on  —  the  stars  with  eyes  of  light 
Look  from  their  ocean  in  contentment  down. 

Sweet  time  of  Peace  !  the  soul  is  upward  drawn, 
We  look  to  Him  who  made  and  giveth  all ; 

Who  made  the  light  and  gave  the  blessed  morn, 
He  knows  each  thought  -  -  He  marks  each 
sparrow's  fall. 


LOST. 


107 


LOST. 


<r 


GOOD    ship    sailed   from  a  land- 
locked bay 

Far  out  to  the  distant  West, 
And  we  watched   her  long   as  she 

sunk  away, 

And  thought  of  the  time,  of  that 
not  far  day, 
She'd  enter  a  port  of  rest ! 

She  passed  from  sight  and  was  seen  no  more ; 

Who  knows  how  the  billows  tost, 
How  'gainst  the  tempest  and  storm  she  bore 

And,  perchance,  went  down  near  her  destined 
shore 


108  LOST. 

With  the  wild  waves  howling,  "  Lost !  " 

'Tis  a  dismal  sound  —  yet  more  sad  each  day 
Are  the  wrecks  in  this  life  we  see ; 

For  passion's  waves  have  a  fiercer  sway 

For  they  whelm  the  soul  with  the  mould'ring 
clay  — 

'Tis  lost  for  eternity ! 


SAVED. 


109 


SAVED! 


(HE    demon-wind  shrieking, 

Its  horrors  bespeaking, 
We  float  but  a  hull  on  the  wild, 

raging  sea ; 
Do  we  speak  —  none  can  hear 

us, 

The  craggy  shore  near  us, 

And  Death  seems  to  mutter,  "Just  under  the 
lee  ! " 

The  lead  gives  its  warning  — 
Each  thought  of  the  morning 
Is  pregnant  with  gloom,  with  a  wreck  on  the 
shore, 


14 


110  SAVED. 

But  never  despairing, 
His  face  a  smile  wearing, 
The  sailor  hopes  on  —  he  has  left  nothing  more  ! 


"  Light  ho  !  "  is  now  ringing, 

The  beacon-light  flinging 

Its  rays  through  the  darkness  shines  clear  to 
our  sight, 

And  joy  usurps  sorrow, 

We  know  that  the  morrow 
Will  find  us  safe  anchored  inside  of  the  light. 

Thus  over  life's  surges, 

When  drear  are  its  dirges, 
And  Hope  almost1  leaves  us  cast  down  in  deep 
fear, 

The  soul  that  ne'er  chiding, 

In  God  e'er  confiding, 
Is  saved  —  for  its  refuge  forever  is  near ! 


TO    ETTA. 


Ill 


TO    ETTA. 


LAS,  the  crimson  autumn  leaves 
We  gathered  on  that  radiant  day, 
Have  long  since  lost  their  brilliant 

hues  — 
And  in  their  beauty  passed  away ; 


And  Casco's  island  shines  not  bright, 
As  when  we  trod  its  lovely  shore, 
The  wintry  snows  enshroud  it  now  - 
That  golden  Summer  day  is  o'er. 

Yet,  Etta,  though  the  seasons  change, 
Thou  art  to  me  fore'er  the  same, 
And  sunshine  seems  to  gild  the  page, 
On  which  I  write  my  Etta's  name ! 


112  FAREWELL. 

FAREWELL  ! 


AREWELL    to    you,    Annie, 

October  is  sighing, 
And  fate  bids   me   wander 

o'er  life's  stormy  sea ; 
I  ask  the  wild  waves,  but  there 

comes  no  replying, 
Will  Annie,  my  Darling,  e'er  come  back  to  me  ! 

Farewell  to  you,  Annie,  in  gloom  and  in  sorrow 
I  see  my  bright  star  sink  in  darkness  away ; 

And  I  ask  to  myself  if  a  bright  sunny  morrow 
Will  dawn  on  the  heart  that  has  squandered 
its  day ! 

Farewell  to  you,  Annie,  when  Summer  is  smiling, 
And  Casco's  loved  islands  gleam  fair  in  the  sea, 

Let  me  hope  some  bright  hour,  all  my  sorrow 

beguiling, 
That  Fate  will  bring  Annie,  in  beauty,  to  me  ! 


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